


Belief and Prejudice in Nepal

by FelidArachnid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Desert Island Fic, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Snowed In, Stranded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:18:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelidArachnid/pseuds/FelidArachnid
Summary: Zarya joins Overwatch for a mission and is furious to discover they not only like omnics, but expect her to work with them. When the mission ship crashes en-route she finds herself stranded in the Himalayas near Nepal - alone, with Zenyatta. Survival will not be easy when she is determined to be hostile, and Zenyatta's patience is tested to the limit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wanted to write this fic ever since they released the Eco-point Antarctica map, something about the eerie abandoned icy station just really inspired me. I hope you enjoy this exploration of Zarya and Zenyatta's dynamic, I think they have one of the most potentially interesting relationships in the game

_Often referred to as ‘the World’s Strongest Woman’, Aleksandra Zaryanova has certainly not been idle since her retirement from the weightlifting scene. Her work with the Russian government in response to the Second Omnic Crisis has given new hope to the people of Russia, and there is talk that Katya Volskaya herself is interested in personally employing the super-soldier. Zaryanova’s apparent silence since the controversial reformation of the Overwatch taskforce have also set forth rumours that she will be working with them in their efforts to -_

Zarya shut the television off and sat down heavily on the bed, running a towel roughly over her damp hair. She knew, in this modern age of information, that privacy was hard to come by, but it still irritated her to see people discussing her personal business over public news like that. Was nothing secret anymore? She wondered what Katya would make of the rumours. 

With a sigh, she tossed the towel aside and placed her head in her hands. She was already beginning to regret accepting Overwatch’s call to arms. After they’d promised to lend their assistance to her home country in their struggle, the offer had been hard to resist. But she was rapidly beginning to dislike Overwatch and their somewhat questionable methods – particularly their apparent predilection for omnics. 

As if summoned by her thoughts, there was a polite tap at the door. She heaved herself up and slid it open, scowling at the slim robotic creature that waited on the other side.

“I thought I asked for a new guide.”

The single rectangular strip down the omnic’s oval face slowly dimmed, and then relit again as it processed her tone of voice. 

“I guarantee you will find me quite adequate, Ms. Zaryanova.”

“Hmph.” She folded her arms. “What do you want?”

It lifted a page from the clipboard it was holding. “Drs Winston and Ziegler request your presence in the meeting room. At once, if convenient.”

“All right,” she said aggressively, bending down to snatch up her boots. “I’ll go.”

When the omnic made no move to leave, she straightened up and gestured angrily. “What more do you want? Leave!”

“I can escort you to - ”

“Get out of here!”

There was a pause, and its blue light flickered once more. “Very well, Ms. Zaryanova.” Despite herself, Zarya grudgingly marvelled at the believably hurt tone of voice it could convey. People were getting very good at building these things to be more and more human.  
She did not turn her back until it had disappeared from sight. 

\---

Zarya was in considerable discomfort, not that anyone would have heard if she’d voiced as much. The tiny ship’s engines were deafening, and there was a frigid breeze coming from somewhere. She grimaced and tugged at her too-small harness with one gloved hand. 

If she was to be completely honest, however, it was not the ear-splitting engine whine, or the ill-fitting seatbelts – it wasn’t even the stifling heat of the thick winter coat she’d been given that had brought her out in a chill sweat. No, for Zarya the most troubling thing about this whole situation was the omnic sitting peacefully opposite her.

She’d suspected she’d made a bad first impression on Dr Winston. Although she’d listened readily to his careful description of the mission they were employing her for, at the mention of the omnics her face had twisted sourly, and in turn his shy awkwardness had rapidly turned to indignant rage. Luckily, the pretty Dr Ziegler had stepped in to prevent an argument – but even she had cast Zarya an anxious, questioning look as she’d left the room. 

“Nepal,” snorted Zarya, loud enough to be heard over the engines. “I do not understand why Overwatch is bothering. I heard there was nothing left there.”

To her irritation, the other men on board did not respond, but the omnic did. It was shabbily dressed, even for an omnic, in just a plain pair of worn beige pants, and she had an odd moment of wondering if it was cold, before she remembered that machines didn’t feel cold. They didn’t feel anything.

“The spread of the Crisis has done much to drive the humans out, it is true. But many areas are recovering; I have seen much rebuilt in my time.”

She narrowed her eyes. Angela Ziegler had pressed a handful of files onto her the night before, insisting that Zarya read up before her trip, but Zarya had stubbornly ignored the final file on the omnic Tekhartha Zenyatta. The idea of omnics following their own religion was incredibly disturbing. They were machines – what machine had any concept of a deity, of morals?

After a polite pause, Zenyatta continued. “ - Overwatch has graciously provided their services in  
bestowing aid and rescue to some of the more…troubled villages. Unrest is at its highest; I fear a great many have already been displaced from their homes.”

“The Shambali began taking in refugees after the Second Crisis sparked conflict in areas of Europe and Asia,” interjected one of the soldiers to Zarya’s right. He was a young man, pale and wan, and somewhat in awe of her presence. “But it’s more than they can handle, and I think the attacks are supposed to be getting worse, which is why we’re so glad to have you along, Ms. Zaryanova…”

“Indeed, your presence is a great comfort,” agreed Zenyatta. “However, if you would forgive me for saying so, I rather hope it will not be needed. The people have seen enough war.”

“The people,” repeated Zarya mockingly. “Don’t speak as if you count your kind among ours.” Her fists clenched around her harness straps. “If the people of Nepal are freely living alongside the omnics, then I am not surprised the region has fallen to war.”

Zenyatta was silent. 

Zarya continued to watch him narrowly out of the corner of one eye, even as the sunlight outside the ship dimmed to darkness and the engines picked up speed. He was surprisingly small and frail looking, and she wondered what his model had originally been intended for. His clothes were plain and worn, but the golden prayer orbs circling his throat were magnificent; they glinted oddly in the cold electric lights and rotated like so many tiny little planets about a sun. She wondered darkly what they were for. Omnic tech was not to be trusted. 

It was only because of her suspicious scrutiny of the omnic that Zarya survived what happened next.  
The change in the ship was imperceptible to any of the humans on board; a miniscule change in engine pitch, the slightest list to the left. But Zenyatta raised his head, and uncrossed his legs. Zarya stiffened and unclipped her own harness. 

She was out of her seat and halfway across the cabin to confront him, when there was an ungodly metallic shriek and the wall against which she’d been sitting disappeared in a ball of fire. 

Zarya roared with pain and flung herself forward. She grabbed the nearest handhold and stared, aghast, at the abyss of swirling rain that now hung below her. Before she could process the loss of half the ship – and several human lives – there was another scream of metal and machine as the rear end of the ship exploded. 

Her ears rang painfully. Something warm coursed down her cheek. She was briefly aware of icy sleet whipping her in the face, before shock overtook her and Zarya blacked out.

\---

She awoke to the plaintive howling of the wind. For a moment Zarya lay disorientated, head pounding and eyes flickering as she gradually came to. 

Abruptly she shot upright, and a heavy tarpaulin sheet slid down her battered body. Her feet shifted on a cold metallic floor, and the sound echoed painfully loud about her. Confused, she gazed around. She appeared to be in some kind of abandoned building – a dreadfully ruined one. Heavy machinery lay broken and smashed about her, and the ceiling was barely more than a patchwork of exposed metal girders. One wall had collapsed, replaced with a large hanging sheet that buckled against the storm outside. 

Gingerly she raised a gloved hand to her head. It came away sticky with old blood. She frowned to herself and yanked the glove off – but upon probing her skull she found no open wound.

How strange.

Grunting in pain as she stirred her stiffened limbs, Zarya got to her feet and brushed herself down, powdery snow cascading to the floor. Hesitantly she approached the hanging sheet, wondering if she dared venture out and brave the weather. She was just reaching a tentative hand out when a voice rang across through the chill air. “I wouldn’t go out there if I were you.”

She whipped around, fists clenched, and noticed for the first time she was not alone. Tekhartha Zenyatta was kneeling on the other side of the room, at the side of a young man lying prone on the floor. 

Zenyatta did not turn his head. “It is quite a blizzard outside. I think we should wait until it has passed.”

“Where am I?” demanded Zarya, limping over. “What happened?”

“You are safe,” said Zenyatta quietly, still not looking at her. His prayer orbs were moving in a gentle circle about his neck, and as Zarya watched they glowed alternately with a warm light. She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Zenyatta was silent. After a few seconds he raised both hands from his knees and made a fluid gesture that she did not recognise. At last he raised his head to look at her. “Forgive me. A prayer, for this young man.”

“Wh - ” Bewildered, Zarya cast her gaze down. 

He was barely more than a boy, much younger than herself. His skin was waxy and pale, his eyes frozen blue orbs that stared sightlessly ahead. It was the awestruck young soldier who had sat beside her on the ship. 

Slowly, Zenyatta reached over him and used his fingertips to close his eyelids. “The Iris awaits you, my young friend.”

Zarya’s throat closed up. “What – happened?” she choked. “The ship – the others…”

Quietly Zenyatta brushed himself down and got to his feet. “I was able to pull you two from the wreckage to safety. He died as I was carrying him over the threshold.” He looked down at the body, and bowed his head. 

“What – is this place?”

“I am not sure. Possibly one of the older power stations built during Nepal’s expansive years. It appears long-forgotten.”

“We need to get out of here,” muttered Zarya, and then, more loudly, “how soon till Overwatch arrive?”

“That, I cannot say,” said Zenyatta. “I assume they will know the ship went down, but whether they can search for us in this weather…” He spread his long-fingered hands and shrugged. 

“Well - _you_!” snapped Zarya, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Send out a signal! A message!”

Gently he placed both palms over her hand and lowered it away from his breast. “And how do you propose I do that?”

“You’re a machine,” she snarled, her breath frosting in the chill air. She towered over Zenyatta but he did not move as she leaned closer. “You must have some kind of…communication function.”

“None beyond that which I am speaking to you with,” he replied, and she could almost imagine just the tiniest bite of crossness to his voice. “I am not equipped for long distance communications.”

She threw up her arms in frustration and stormed to the other side of the room, kicking shards of ice as she went. “Then what is the _point_ of you?!”

Angrily she paused, arms folded, and glowered at the rows of frosted, broken machinery lining the walls. Then she stooped, snatched her gloves from the floor and adjusted her belt. “Fine then. _I_ will go find help.”

“Leaving in this weather is ill-advised,” Zenyatta repeated. His tone was firm, but not aggressive. She scoffed. “I have survived war in the Russian Winters. I think I will heed my _own_ advice, omnic.”

So saying, she strode to the tarpaulin and pulled it aside, tearing it from the heavy rocks that had been weighing the bottom edge down. 

The shock was immediate, the wind slicing into her exposed face like a blade. She grunted and screwed her eyes against the flurrying ice shards that assailed her as she took the first step. Despite her wide-soled boots she sank deep into the snow, and it was a struggle to move. Gritting her teeth, she squared her shoulders. This was madness. It was hellish. She knew she was never going to find the ship, and if she dared venture further she would risk getting lost – which would mean certain death. 

But she couldn’t stand the thought of being stranded here, alone, with that _thing_. Besides, if she had survived, there was a chance some of the others had too. She thought of the young soldier lying dead on the floor, and her heart twisted painfully. Her younger brother was about his age. 

“Aleksandra!” Zenyatta’s voice was barely audible over the scream of the wind. “You must come back inside!”

Bitterly she stared out into the darkness. There was no moon, no light to see by, except the cold glow of the lights inside their shelter. Snow and hail battered her eyes until they watered, and she felt the tears freezing on her skin as they fell. 

She turned, and stepped back inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Zarya stooped and wiped the frost clear with her glove. She stared blankly down at the battered old control panel, and wondered what all the buttons and dials were for. Gripping one rusted lever, she tugged it down. It came off in her hand. 

Angrily, she tossed it aside and turned back to Zenyatta, hands on her hips. “Very well, omnic. I will remain here for the night, and then I am leaving.”

“And where will you go?” asked Zenyatta placidly. He was sitting cross-legged with his back to the far wall, his hands lying loose in his lap.

Zarya’s face twisted sourly. “No more talk,” she snapped, snatching up the rest of the tattered tarpaulin and shaking the snow loose. She stomped to the other side of the room and lay down, wrapping herself stubbornly in the frigid sheet and glowered up at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights. 

She sat up. “How are the lights still on in this place?”

Zenyatta turned to face her, and she shivered – from cold, or unease, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t like not knowing where his eyes were, and her own darted nervously over his head, wondering where to look. 

“I was thankfully able to plug them in to an old generator,” he said, indicating a broken doorway to his right. “It will not last much longer, but it will be a comfort for now, I think.”

“The generator was working?”

He shook his head, and gently tapped his breastplate with one long forefinger. “I had to give it a little…jump-start, if you will.”

Fear and anger bubbled in Zarya’s belly. “Why would you touch the generator in a power station like this?”

“I thought you would appreciate some light.”

Zarya got menacingly to her feet and stalked over. To his credit, Zenyatta did not shift from his seat on the floor, but his prayer balls did cease rotating and contracted a half inch closer to his neck. 

Slowly Zarya bent down and stabbed him in the chest with one large finger. “I have grown up seeing your kind wreak destruction upon my country. I don’t know what you are up to, but you are mistaken if you think I will ever let my guard down.”

So saying, she sat down heavily a few feet away and folded her arms. “I am watching you. _Omnic_.” She spat the last word out with particular contempt. 

“You must sleep, Aleksandra - ” Zenyatta ducked as Zarya launched a shard of ice at him; it shattered against the wall where his head had been.

“You do not use my name!” she shouted, her voice ringing off the metal walls and ceiling. “Where did you hear my name, you bastard?!”

“Dr. Zeigler provided me with some informative files,” Zenyatta said, and he almost sounded a little hurt. “I assume you too have read mine.”

“I already know far too much about omnics,” she snarled. “I have no wish to learn any more.”

“Yes, I read about your homeland. I am sorry for the tragedy you have endured.”

“If you were truly sorry, you would walk out of here - ” Zarya pointed at the entrance, behind which the wind continued to howl. “ – and off the nearest cliff.” She returned to her corner and drew the sheet about her shoulders, suddenly exhausted.

Zenyatta watched as she laid herself down on one side, back to him, and drew the makeshift blanket closer about herself. Gradually her breathing slowed and she began to snore.

Wordlessly, he got to his feet and dimmed the lights. 

\---

The glare from the snow was so bright it made the sweat stand out on Zarya’s skin. Even behind her snow goggles she squinted as she surveyed the white expanse before her. Gasping, she loosened the neck of her coat a little. She had been hiking for nearly an hour now and in the bright midday sunshine she was beginning to overheat despite the frigid mountain air. 

Beside her, Zenyatta leaned forward and brushed the snow clear from a large metal panel. “We must be close.”

“We – have been – following the trail for - _one hour_ ,” huffed Zarya angrily, still trying to catch her breath. The last hill had been heavy going, thick with snow up to her knees. Zenyatta floating serenely one foot off the ground had not helped. “I thought you knew where the ship was!?”

“Forgive me. I am poor at navigating without obvious landmarks, and the snowstorm has altered the terrain somewhat. However…the debris we have been following was all at bottom of a hill,” Zenyatta said blithely, tapping one of his prayer balls with a forefinger and sending them into a dizzying orbit. “Gravity would have caused it all to settle there. This piece travelled along flat ground.” He pointed at the white snow. “It has left a track.”

Zarya put her hands on her hips and looked around. Everything was a pristine, glittering white. “I see no track.”

Zenyatta began floating ahead of her. “The snow behind it is shallower and fresher. I think we should move in this direction.”

Irritated, Zarya jogged to keep up. “I don’t understand. How can you see all that?”

“I forget sometimes that you see things differently,” said Zenyatta in a slightly wistful voice.

“Spare me the poetry, omnic,” snapped Zarya.

“You misunderstand me,” he said. “I am equipped to navigate by polarised light. Most omnics are, I think.” He gestured broadly with one arm. “Tracks are very easy to see on snow in sunlight.”

“[Freak],” Zarya muttered in Russian. 

Zenyatta turned to look at her. “If you are going to insult me I’d rather you’d not do it under your breath.”

“Oh, shut up!” she cried in exasperation, and stormed off, kicking up snowdrifts as she went. It was hard physical labour, wading through the snow, but she was angry and determined to put as much distance between herself and Zenyatta as she could. Abruptly she rounded the next boulder – and found herself staring at the broken remains of the ship. 

It was a mess, a blackened heap of twisted metal, bizarrely juxtaposed with a light frosting of powder snow. In despair, Zarya ran her eyes over the burnt-out windows, the shattered cockpit. She stooped and picked up a charred package at her feet, turning it over in one hand. It was a parachute, the pull cord intact. A lump rose in her throat and she threw it aside angrily, stomping closer to the wreckage. 

The door shrieked dreadfully as she pulled the warped metal aside and peered in. “Hello?” She stepped over the threshold and straightened up in the horribly still air. “Hello!”

Zenyatta’s voice behind her made her jump. “At the risk of sounding pessimistic, I think we are wasting our time.” To her surprise, he was standing upright on two feet. He was taller than she remembered, but still barely came to her shoulder. “I searched the area as best I could after the crash.”

Briefly she imagined the omnic picking through the burning wreckage, alone, on a windswept mountainside in the dark. It suddenly occurred to her that he must have made the difficult trek to and from the shelter not once, but twice, to carry both her and the young soldier to safety.

“Salvage what you can,” muttered Zarya, pushing past and back out the door. “I’m going to look for the food kits.” 

To her relief, the search paid off, and it wasn’t long before she was kneeling on a rock, counting out the contents of four bags and redistributing them into a heavy-duty rucksack. She did not look up as Zenyatta crunched through the snow towards her.

“Enough ration food to last for a week, I should think,” she said, more to herself than the monk. “Couple of flashlights…blankets…” She extracted a tiny metallic device and scrutinised it closely. “A portable firestarter.” All in all, she was satisfied. The Overwatch crew had packed well, and she felt confident that she had enough to survive a trek down to civilisation. 

Grudgingly, she turned to Zenyatta. “And what about you?”

He held out a laminated booklet. “A map.”

No, they had not done badly at all, and Zarya felt almost cheerful as she stirred a little tin pot of rehydrated stew over the rickety campfire stand. She had decided to stay in the ship overnight before attempting the hike, a decision that Zenyatta had neither agreed to nor contested. 

She regarded him suspiciously out the corner of her eye as she spooned hot meat into her mouth. He was sitting a few feet away, hands resting on his folded knees and gazing serenely out at the mountain scenery. The prayer balls were glowing slightly once more, and they made a very faint, gentle chinking noise that felt strangely relaxing in the bluish sunset. 

Zarya scraped the bottom of the pan. She hadn’t bothered to offer him any. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking,” replied Zenyatta peaceably. 

Zarya snorted. He turned his head, and the musical clinking ceased abruptly. “Do I amuse you?”

“You are ‘thinking’?” she repeated, sarcasm dripping off her voice. “A strange choice of word.”

He watched her pile handfuls of snow into the empty pan and set it back over the tiny blue flame. “Strange?”

“You,” she said accusingly, pointing her spoon at him. “Do not think. A machine, does not think.”

“An interesting proposal,” he said musingly, as though she had made a polite comment in class. “And yet, I am capable of emotion, of reason, of morals. I dream,” he added, and she could have sworn there was a smile in his voice. “Do none of these mean that I think?”

She scowled, and swirled the now steaming pot of water. “You’re deluded. Clever programming, that’s what’s giving you all that. You’re only thinking those things because whoever built you _told_ you to think those things.” 

“Is it wrong to steal, Zarya?” asked Zenyatta unexpectedly, looking down at his hands in his lap. 

The question took her by surprise. “S-steal?”

“Yes. Steal. Take that which is not your own. Would you consider it immoral?”

She drew herself up and puffed out her chest. “Of course!”

“Who taught you that stealing is wrong?”

“ _Matushka_. My mother,” she said fiercely, not without some pride. In fact, she still remembered the day her mother dragged her brother to the local shop and furiously demand he apologise in person for daring to take a candy bar. She was a strong woman, with strong morals. But she didn’t feel like talking about her to Zenyatta.

“Are we all not products of our…how did you put it… ‘programming’?” he pointed out gently. 

“Do not speak of my mother and your technology in the same breath,” she snarled back, and tossed the hot water past him into the snow. For a moment, she was angrily silent, staring down at the now clean and empty pan. Then she got to her feet, gathering up the stove and her bag as she did so.

“Aleks – Zarya? Would you like me to keep watch?” he asked, turning to watch her duck back into the ship.

“Do you want you want,” she snapped back.

She listened as she wrapped herself in a camping blanket and curled up on the floor, but she heard nothing outside but the distant whistle of the mountain winds. 

Then – “goodnight, Zarya.”

She sat up, and looked through the open doorway to where Zenyatta sat silhouetted against the dying sun. 

She lay back down and rolled to face the other way in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating for a while, been a bit busy with moving house!

Zarya awoke early with the sun, screwing up her face at the weak yellow light that seeped in through her eyelids. It did little to warm her, and she spent several minutes thawing her chilled fingers under her armpits, delaying the moment when she’d have to roll up her blanket and make a start on the hike. 

When she did finally exit the ship, stretching and cracking her tired muscles as she did so, she found Zenyatta standing upright and methodically beating at his joints with flattened palms. 

He caught her eye – or at least, she thought he did. She still wasn’t sure where to look. “I appear to have frosted over in the night,” and he shrugged sheepishly. Zarya found herself picturing a rue smile where there was none; she grunted irritably. The metallic surface of Zenyatta’s body was coated with a rime of frost and she could see the thickest crystals settled in the crannies of his joints. 

“Have you any plans for the day?” he continued conversationally, straightening out his left elbow with some difficulty. 

“No, I - ” Zarya watched as he attempted to bend and brush his trousers clean, but got himself stuck halfway down. There was a film of ice against his lower back and she could see it powdering off as the mechanism ground fruitlessly. “Here,” she said gruffly, stepping forward and placing her gloved hand against it. “You’ll never reach all of it.”

Zenyatta straightened up and stood very still as she gently patted the last of the ice away. He felt painfully cold even through her winter gloves, but as she held her hand against him she could distinctly feel a deep thrumming, perhaps not a heartbeat, but disconcertingly similar to the sensation of an active, living body. 

“You should not have spent the night outside,” she said angrily, dusting the ice clear. 

“I presumed you did not want to be disturbed,” he said blandly, staring studiously out over the landscape as she finished thawing the last of his spine with her hands. “I know that my presence makes you…uncomfortable.”

She felt her cheeks blaze with embarrassment and angrily stepped away to snatch up her bulging rucksack. “Well, remind me to give you my blanket this evening. I do not have time to de-ice you every morning.”

“All right,” he agreed placidly, and picked up his own bag, a charred one-strapped satchel that he had evidently found the day before. “Are you ready to leave?”

It suddenly occurred to Zarya that he possessed their only map. After her error in making him sleep outside and freezing over in the night, it hardly seemed prudent to be bossing him around today and so she reluctantly asked what his plan was. 

He unfolded a leaf of the map and held it out, indicating their location with a silvered fingertip. “I am not certain but I suspect we are not too far from the original Shambali temple, which means I may be able to navigate to this village.”

“That’s at least three days’ walk,” said Zarya, aghast. 

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I - ” She tightened her bag’s straps and mentally totted up the meals it held. If she was careful, and nothing untoward happened then three days was easily survivable. Uncertainly, she turned to Zenyatta. “You – is it…too far for you – I mean - ”

He laughed, surprisingly her. It was a soft, mild laugh that reminded her of her uncle Pasha with his kind eyes and dry humour; he had died in the omnic uprising. 

“You really do have very little experience with omnics,” he said, clearly amused. “I assumed you already knew I do not eat, given that you have offered me no food.”

There was no accusation in his voice, but Zarya’s cheeks burned and she looked swiftly away. “How will you – last for the next few days?”

“With care,” he admitted simply. “Provided I do not exert myself too much I should be more than capable of surviving.” He patted his bag. “I also found a spare battery, and I can use solar energy in emergencies.”

“Oh. Well…good.”

“Shall we make a start? I think I will refrain from walking until we get to firmer ground. The snow is rather too much for me, I’m afraid.” 

Watching Zenyatta move from standing to floating was a surreal experience. He sat backwards and drew his long legs up into a crossed position, as though ensconcing himself on an invisible surface that Zarya could not see. Briefly his entire body bobbed as the weight settled, and then he was still. 

“Let’s go.”

She watched him float bizarrely off, leading the way across the blinding white snow. Trying to shake the strangeness of the situation, she gripped her bag’s straps and began wading after him.

\---

They walked in silence for the first hour, or at least, Zarya did. Zenyatta floated for most of the way until the thick powder snow gave way to icy rock, where he experimentally lowered both feet to stand upright. At first his slender knees trembled as his flat sandals struggled to find purchase on the slippery surface, but he quickly recovered and nodded satisfactorily. 

“You are like Bambi,” said Zarya before she could help herself. She couldn’t help but smile at the frail looking omnic.

He put his head quizzically to one side. “Bambi?”

“Oh…it was an old film – very old. My brother and I used to…” She coughed. “There was a baby deer, he could not stand on ice either.”

“I will look it up,” he said with a smile in his voice. 

After an hour of silence this brief exchange seemed to open a floodgate for Zarya and she realised how she had been craving conversation. As they continued along a steep, narrow path – her with one arm ready to steady Zenyatta if he slipped – she remembered something she had been meaning to ask. 

“When you found me in the wreckage.”

Zenyatta was silent; it didn’t occur to Zarya that he might not want to relive that night.

“I wasn’t injured?” she pressed. “Only…it seems impossible. And I found blood…but I found no wounds.” Frowning, she raised one hand to her chest. “I did hurt but…not for long.”

They reached a particularly steep part and Zenyatta didn’t speak, apparently concentrating on finding suitable hand and footholds to lower himself down. 

“Well?” said Zarya impatiently. “I am just making sure.”

“Of course you were injured in the crash,” said Zenyatta in a clipped voice. “I did what I needed to do. Closed your wound, and fixed your ribs, I believe.”

Zarya narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You are a medic omnic?” Her tone was one of disbelief. 

“I am enlightened,” he answered unhelpfully. 

“What does that mean?” she demanded, stopping in her tracks. “Tell me what you did to me!”

He too stopped walking, and turned back to face her. The sun had disappeared behind a pall of grey clouds, and in the rising wind and spray of powdery snow, he looked strangely alien. The effect was exacerbated by the slow orbit of his prayer balls. “By the grace of the Iris, I was able to heal you.”

She scoffed. “The ‘Iris’? What does that mean?”

A deep sigh. “You do not trust omnic culture; I appreciate that. I do not expect you to understand that which you do not trust.”

“I will trust it when you explain what you did!”

“Some might say that thanks are in order,” he retorted stiffly, and the orbs began whirling dizzyingly fast about his neck.

They both fell silent, the atmosphere uncomfortably frosty – and not just because of the mountain air. 

Zenyatta clasped his hands at his breastbone and bowed his head, the prayer balls slowing to a halt, still spinning slightly on the spot. 

“Forgive me,” he said, raising his head. “We should continue on. This way.”

Her fists trembled at her sides as she watched him hoist his bag a little higher and begin picking his way down the mountain once more.


End file.
